by Parnell Hall
Peggy frowned and fidgeted.
“Anyway, your new man seems nice. For a drug dealer banging a minor. I’d hate to see him get killed for no reason. Trust me, killing him is not going to help you at all. It’s not going to reflect on your brother. It might help Melvin, but you don’t care about that. You want to get Johnny out of your life. This isn’t the way to do it. So do yourself a favor.”
Cora cocked her head.
“Don’t kill anybody else.”
Chapter
72
Cora walked into the interrogation room. “Hi, Melvin, how you doing?”
Melvin scowled. “How did you get in here?”
“I made a deal with the cops. If I can make a deal with you, we all win. If I can’t, we all lose. I’ll lose pretty bad, but you’ll lose worst of all.”
“Wait a minute. You made a deal with the cops?”
“Tentative. It’s all dependent on my coming to terms with you. If I can’t do that, the deal is off.”
“That makes no sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Which is fitting, because nothing about this case really does. There’s too many scam artists involved. Not the least of which is you.”
“Can I go back to my cell?”
“Of course you can. Just sign this contract first.”
“What contract?”
“I had Becky draw up a contract to wind this whole thing up. If you sign it, we can get on with our lives. If you don’t, well, jail seems to agree with you.”
“Let’s see the contract.”
“We have to solve the crime first.”
“We have to solve the crime?”
“Yeah. You and me. The original Nick and Nora. We’re perfect for the parts. I’ve even got a little dog.”
“You’re not amusing me.”
“I’m not trying to. Shut up and pay attention. I’ll tell you what happened.”
“You know what happened?”
“More than you do. Let me fill you in.”
Cora held up her hand, slipped into lecture mode. “Who stole Peggy Dawson’s puzzle and who framed you? If I could figure that out, it would be a huge step forward. It still wouldn’t solve the crime, but it would clear away some of the deadwood, making the solution obvious. What I was hoping for, what would have been really neat, was if you stole Peggy’s puzzle and Peggy framed you. It would have a nice symmetry to it. And you and jailbait is a match made in heaven.”
“She’s much too young.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Melvin. You’re the original cradle robber. Hell, you’ve dated sperm.”
“That line sounds familiar. Did you use it in the divorce hearing?”
“Let’s not get sidetracked. We need to end this fiasco. The way I see it, there are two possible outcomes. One, you go to trial, you get convicted, your book comes out, you make a pile of money, only you can’t spend it in jail. Or, two, the police catch the real killer, the case against you is dismissed, your book comes out and makes a small fortune, but not nearly as much as a book by a killer would make. On the other hand, you get to spend every cent because you’re a free man. Which plan do you like?”
“Am I supposed to say Plan B?”
“You’re supposed to choose whatever brings you true happiness. Freedom and a small fortune sounds good to me, but then it’s not my money.”
Melvin considered. “I’m not sure taking the rap is as lucrative as the portrait you paint. There’s something to be said for the killer who cheated justice.”
“Yeah, but it ain’t you, babe. You’re putting up a brave front, Melvin, but the fact is you’re scared. Everything that could possibly go wrong, has. The murder weapon was a clever frame, and I’m afraid it’s gonna get you. The only way out is to play ball.”
“I’m not following this.”
“Of course not. Remember when I said the ideal thing would be if you stole Peggy’s puzzle and Peggy framed you? That didn’t happen. Turned out it was the other way around. And I never would have got it if it wasn’t for your agent. That was a bit of an overreach, and it’s coming back to bite you. The minute your agent started plugging the book, I realized what happened.
“Peggy stole the puzzle and you framed you.
“You hadn’t meant to. But when you saw Johnny Dawson marched into the police station with the TV cameras rolling, dollar signs went off in your head. You saw your book suddenly leap from mid-list to bestseller. It’s not just confessions of a trophy husband anymore. It’s confessions of a murder suspect. With luck, they could rush the book out while you’re still on trial.
“So, what do you do? You speed out to Target and buy a hunting knife. You keep the receipt to be able to prove you did. You rush back to the motel and get the bloody handkerchief, the one you used to wipe Fred Winkler’s blood off your hands. It’s not from the murder. It’s from the fistfight. When you punched him in the face and gave him a bloody nose. You stain the knife with enough blood that forensics will be able to prove that it’s his.
“You wait in your motel room until one of the construction workers drives up. It’s Jason Tripp, sneaking back to the motel on his lunch hour to do some drugs. You come out of the motel and you stick the knife in your glove compartment when he’s sure to notice. Then you drive out to the Country Kitchen for a beer, stopping at a pay phone on the way to give an anonymous tip to the cops to search your car. Jason Tripp didn’t phone that tip in, you did. As soon as you were caught with the weapon, he was happy to take credit.
“The cops pick you up, search your car, find the knife. Suddenly Johnny Dawson’s off the hook and you’re on it. Golden boy. Media darling. The one Rick Reed wants to interview. You go on TV and get interviewed as often as possible, paving the way for your agent to show up and publicize the book. Ignoring your attorney’s warning, you blab your guts out. You say anything you want. You don’t care, as long as you get the publicity. You’re not worried; you’ve got the sales receipt, proving the knife was bought after the crime.
“Guess what? It’s not going to happen. Because the dramatic piece of evidence you planned on producing to prove your innocence has disappeared. And guess what? I’ve got it. I can produce it, or I can flush it down the toilet. So let’s make a deal. And there’s no reason to involve your agent. Or your lawyer, for that matter.”
“Wait a minute. You have my receipt?”
“Of course I do. Where’d you think it went?”
“You stole it?”
“That’s right. So let’s play Deal or No Deal.”
“You give me the receipt and I don’t write the book?”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve got a contract. You’ve got to write the book.”
“So you want me to go easy.”
“Of course not. They’d want their advance back. Confessions of a Trophy Husband. You promised them the inside scoop on a scandalous sex life, and that’s what you gotta give ’em. Tell ’em every intimate detail. If you can’t remember, make it up. I won’t contradict you. Have fun. Describe that three-way we never had.”
“Well, actually—”
“That wasn’t me, you twit! I can understand how you’d get confused. You certainly did when we were married. So lay it on thick. I don’t know if Granville Grains will stand behind me. If not, we can revisit your alimony. Your income will have substantially changed.”
“So you’re going to hold me up.”
“That was a joke. I’m not going to say boo, unless you wanna count no comment. You can say absolutely anything you want. Just don’t kill the golden goose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t out me. That’s the centerpiece of your book, right? That I’m a fraud? Well, you don’t need that anymore. You got sex and murder. You’re one of the few people who know I’m Milli Vanilli. Say so in our book, and the deal is off.”
“How?”
Cora shook her head. “See? That’s why this is such an iffy proposition. There’s nothing to keep you fr
om going back on your word. Except your honor and sense of fair play.”
“I can see how that would be a problem.”
“So how do we get around it? I’m working on scenarios that automatically recant your alibi evidence in the event of a betrayal, but then you run into double jeopardy and whether it’s attached, since a dismissal is not a bar to future prosecution, and the whole thing becomes a horrible mess. I’d like to circumvent that. Hence the contract.”
“What is the contract?”
“It’s a contract between you and me for an equitable distribution of the royalties from your new book.”
“The hell it is. You have no right to any of my royalties.”
“Well, that would be one contention. The other is I do. The lawyers fight it out and the judge decides.”
“My publisher would not be a party to any such contract.”
“Your publisher won’t even know. The contract is between you and me. If you’re a good boy, no one will ever know. If you’re not, everything goes to hell and it’s a dogfight. Anyway, here’s the contract. You don’t have to read it. You’re much too angry, and I don’t want to put you through it. But I can give you the gist.
“As I said, the contract specifies our agreement on the distribution of the royalties. The math is rather simple. According to the contract, you get one hundred percent of the royalties and I get none.”
“What?”
“If that works for you, it works for me. But that’s only if you live up to the terms of the contract.”
“What terms?”
“Not too tough. All you have to do is agree that you will not in any way imply that I might not be capable of creating crosswords. Should you do that, the original distribution is void, and the second percentages kick in. In that case you get twenty percent of the royalties and I get eighty.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“More than likely, but those are the terms. Sorry to ask for so much, but I want to make something on this deal, and in that event the royalties on the book aren’t going to be very high.”
Melvin’s face darkened. “What do you mean?”
“You out me, I’ll out you. You can be the romantic hero, framed for murder. Or you can be the sniveling snake oil salesman just trying to make a buck.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“It’s pretty obvious, Melvin. I got your receipt from Target. I can prove you framed yourself.”
“Give me a break.”
“I am. That’s why I’m here, talking to you, instead of the police. I could present them with a solution of the crime, but that wouldn’t do any good for either of us.
“I don’t think you appreciate the delicacy of the Target receipt. You thought you could have Becky produce it and claim that the killer, having already disposed of the real murder weapon, bought an identical knife to frame you with. And the prosecution wouldn’t be calling in the sales clerk from Target to prove you bought the knife, because they’d be proving you bought it after the murder and it had nothing to do with the crime.
“But that’s a worst-case scenario. You’re probably counting on me to solve the crime. Well, guess what. I’m not going to do it. I can’t be bothered. I’m gonna hang on to my clipping and let you fry. Unless the cops are an awful lot brighter than they’ve shown so far and solve it themselves, and that ain’t gonna happen. You’ll be convicted on the evidence, the book will make a ton of money, and you’ll be in jail.
“My career will be in tatters, but that will be a small consolation knowing I’m not going to lift a finger to get you out.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Melvin said.
“What? Do nothing? I’m great at doing nothing. My career’s over, I got no obligations, there’s nothing to keep me. Maybe I’ll take a cruise. Or maybe I’ll write my own book. Confessions of a Killer’s Wife: My Life with Melvin Crabtree.
“Or sign this contract and I’ll have you out of here by lunch.”
Chapter
73
Cora came out of the interrogation room holding the signed contract.
“All set?” Chief Harper said.
“Yeah. Thanks for holding off.”
“I can pick up Peggy Dawson now?”
“Any time.”
“Dan?”
“I’m on it.”
Dan Finley went out the door.
“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” Chief Harper said.
“Just getting Melvin to agree.”
“Agree to what?”
“Not rock the boat. You want a smooth transition, right? No public ridicule, no charges of false arrest. Melvin’s gonna stress the incident as a dramatic vindication of the American judicial system. Any man may be charged, but it takes a jury of one’s peers to declare one guilty. There’s no stigma attached to being arrested. It will make a wonderful chapter for his book.”
“I’m going to look like an idiot.”
“You’re going to look like a hero. That’s why I had you wire me instead of recording the girl with a digital from Best Buy. You’re the courageous police officer making sure he was proceeding against the right man. You’re going to look damn good.”
“And then Henry Firth will take me out to the woodshed.”
“That’s why you’re going to let him stand up and take the credit.”
“I suppose,” Harper said.
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s some holes in your story.”
“Like what?”
“If Peggy was trying to frame her brother, who framed Melvin?”
Cora spread her arms. “Don’t look at me. I know you think it’s just the sort of thing that I would do, but trust me, I didn’t. I’m sure if I poked around I could find enough people Melvin has ticked off to come up with someone who thought it would be the perfect revenge to frame him, but if he gets out it hardly matters who got him in.”
“Doesn’t he want to know?”
“If he does, that’s just tough. I got him off the hook for murder. If he wants revenge, that’s his business. My work is done.”
Cora smiled at Chief Harper and, clutching her precious contract, sailed out the door.
Chapter
74
“Becky knows I can’t do crossword puzzles.”
“So?”
“You’re not upset?”
“What? That my husband’s ex-girlfriend who has always had the edge of being a brilliant trial lawyer is aware of the fact I have a highly skilled expertise of my own?” Sherry shrugged. “I can live with that.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Cora said.
“And she’s not going to spill the beans?”
“She’s my lawyer.”
“What about Melvin?”
“He’ll be out as soon as they clear up the paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“Beats me. I don’t think there is any. They’re not going to let him out until they update Henry Firth. He’s the one who’s going to have to explain the change of defendants.”
“That should be embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as it could be.”
“No kidding. Henry Firth doesn’t suspect?”
“No, and he’s not gonna. That and the fact Melvin framed himself. No one’s gonna find that out because it would hurt sales of his book.”
“You care about his book sales?”
“I care about ours. As long as his book is selling, he isn’t going to hurt us. If it flops, he might try to take us down.”
“You think it’ll happen?”
“Hell, no. His book’s gonna sell if I have to go on TV talk shows and admit there’s a part of my life I’m not particularly proud of. If I play my cards right, sales on our Puzzle Lady books will go up.”
Sherry pointed to the TV. “Here they come.”
Melvin and Henry Firth came out the front door of the police station. From the way they acted, they might have b
een old golfing buddies. Henry wrapped his arm around Melvin’s shoulders and faced the camera.
“Mr. Prosecutor,” Rick Reed said. “I understand you’re releasing Melvin Crabtree from custody. What does this mean?”
“A great miscarriage of justice has been averted, Rick. And we have the Bakerhaven police force and Chief Harper in particular to thank. Moments ago, Peggy Dawson, faced with irrefutable evidence collected by the police, confessed to the crimes. She and she alone killed Fred Winkler and Jason Tripp. Mr. Crabtree has been exonerated of all charges, and I must say he is being gracious about the confusion that led to his arrest.”
“Mr. Crabtree, this must be a huge relief.”
“You bet it is, Rick. But I must say I wasn’t concerned. I had no doubt that the situation would be cleared up, and that’s exactly what happened.”
“Can you tell us the circumstances that led to your arrest?”
Melvin smiled. “I could. But you’re going to have to wait for my book, Confessions of a Murder Suspect: My Life with the Puzzle Lady.”
“Would that be the same book your agent announced as Confessions of a Trophy Husband?”
“That was the original title, Rick, but recent events have thrust me center stage. As an innocent man who was nearly tried for two murders I didn’t commit, I find myself in the position of being somewhat of a celebrity myself. My publisher’s dancing on the ceiling, and my agent’s looking for a movie deal.”
“You think he’ll get a movie deal?” Sherry said.
“Stranger things have happened.”
“That might be interesting. I wonder who would play you.”
“You name an actress over sixty and I’ll break your head.”
Sherry suddenly became very interested in the TV screen.
Aaron Grant wandered in. Sherry seized on the chance to change the subject. “You’re not covering this?”
“I already filed my stories. Cora gave me a heads-up. I know what they’re going to say.”
“Then you must be psychic. Rick Reed might say anything.”
“True, but it’s not newsworthy. Cora gave me everything else.” Aaron sank down on the couch, leaned back. “Of course, none of it’s exclusive. You got anything exclusive for me, Cora? Anything at all?”